


Centered

by notlucy



Series: The Brownstone in Brooklyn [4]
Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: BDSM, But Bucky doesn't have a big role in this one, Do As Peggy Says, Dom Peggy Carter, F/M, Face Slapping, Femdom, Impact Play, Kneeling, Multi, Obedience, POV Steve Rogers, Polyamory, Sub Steve Rogers, Subspace, Tears, Timey-Wimey, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-12-26 03:25:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12050298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notlucy/pseuds/notlucy
Summary: Steve's been struggling post-mission; Peggy helps him find some relief.





	Centered

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Crockzilla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crockzilla/gifts).



Steve’s never sure how much time has passed when she does this. His senses blur, the world stills, and all he can feel is the silk across his eyes, the cushion under his knees, the weight of his naked body while he kneels and waits for her. 

He keeps his back straight and his hands still, resting the backs of his palms on his thighs which have started to tremble from the stress of holding himself in the position. He knows he doesn’t have to; it would be just as easy to relax, let his guard down, trust his enhanced hearing to tell him when she’s coming. After all, he can hear her bare feet on a carpeted floor from fifty feet away. But Steve doesn’t disobey. He’d be letting himself down as much as he’d be letting her down, and he can’t bring himself to do that. 

So, he waits, unsure if minutes or hours or days are passing him by until the doorknob turns and she’s there. He lets out a shaky sigh, hearing her murmur something sweet to Bucky, who’s only a spectator for these sorts of things. His senses perk up, unable to help it as he tracks their movements. He knows Bucky’s crossing the room to sit on the bed, hears the mattress give as he settles himself right in the center. He wonders if Bucky’s still wearing the warm hoodie he’d had on downstairs, and the thought of Bucky being warm and comfortable while Steve’s so exposed sends a shiver straight down his spine. Peggy’s moved behind him, just to his left, and she brings the riding crop down suddenly on his right shoulder, sweet as a kiss. 

“I can see you thinking,” she says quietly. “Don’t.” 

He hasn’t been given permission to speak, and he doesn’t imagine she needs him to acknowledge the reprimand. He’s not supposed to be worrying about anything because she’s going to give him what he needs. It’s been a long couple of weeks; a mission that had left him worn out and angry with everyone and everything. He’d taken his temper out on both of them, with passive-aggressive barbs and general peevishness. Peggy had tolerated it for a day or two before informing him that if he wanted to act like a stroppy teenager, she’d treat him like one. Only instead of sending him to his room to think about what he’d done, she sent him to their room with a promise that she was going to take him out of his head entirely.

“Kneel up,” she says firmly because she never needs to yell. When he hesitates, she brings the crop down on his thigh. It doesn’t hurt, not really; the serum makes it so that she has to work him over harder and longer to actually cause him pain. But the rebuke in her voice, the shame of disappointing her - that affects him more than any physical pain could. “Mmm,” she murmurs, “don’t you know what I want when I ask for it? Such a shame. Now I’m going to have to show you.” 

The crop hits him again, this time on the arch of his right foot, near where his thighs are resting on his heels. “Kneel _up_ ,” she repeats. He gets the message, shifting his body to an upright position. It redistributes his weight, putting more of the pressure on his knees. It’s not uncomfortable, but it could be if he held it long enough. The new position leaves his hands with nowhere to comfortably sit, so he holds them at his sides until Peggy hits the meat of his bicep. “Parade rest, soldier, there’s a good lad.” 

He puts his hands behind his back without hesitation, holding them in position and letting out a shaky sigh. 

“Better,” Peggy murmurs. “Perhaps the next time I tell you to kneel up you won’t need the reminders.” 

Steve shivers at the praise, knowing it’s the closest she’ll come to a compliment; she’s nearly impossible to please. But then, Steve’s nearly impossible to put into subspace, so he figures they suit each other perfectly.

She’s quiet for a moment, and he feels his mind wandering to what she might do next, when suddenly her fingers are twisted in his hair, pulling his head roughly to the right as she leans down to whisper in his left ear. “What did I just tell you about thinking?”

He whines, he can’t help it, and Peggy responds by letting go of his hair and slapping him, the force hardly enough to turn his head, but the embarrassment of it sufficient to send a wave of heat coursing through his body. 

“Let’s try again,” she murmurs, before issuing another command. “Kneel spread.” 

Steve hesitates, before returning to his original position, palms up on his thighs, legs spread, posture perfect, his cock fully at attention now. It feels obscene now, the weight of his desire between his legs an omnipresent distraction from whatever it is Peggy wants. 

“Good God, Rogers,” she tsks. “If I wanted you to kneel, I would have asked for it.” 

Steve barely has time to wonder what she means when she arcs the crop up on his underside of his shaft, and that _hurts_ , serum or no serum. But it’s wonderful, too, the pain radiating through him as Peggy flicks the crop again, this time sending a shockwave of pain radiating out from the head of his dick. He inhales a sharp breath and Peggy, wonderfully frustrated with his inability to do what she wants, wrenches one of his arms up behind his neck, then the other, positioning them so that his fingers are clasped together, and his back is ramrod straight. 

“I shouldn’t have had to do that,” she sighs, sounding so disappointed that Steve wants to curl in on himself and beg for her forgiveness. But he’s not allowed to speak, so he can’t apologize. All he can do is hold himself in position, waiting for her next instruction, which comes as she uses her foot to dig into his inner thighs, one at a time, forcing his leg further apart. “When I say kneel spread, I mean spread, you stupid boy.” 

Steve shivers at the insult, loving it and hating it all at once. Peggy doesn’t need to resort to the types of cruelties he’s heard in the videos they’ve watched together; she can reduce him with nothing more than a schoolboy’s reprimand. He hears Bucky shift on the bed and Peggy’s attention shifts. She crosses the room in a few soft strides, and he strains to hear her as she coddles Bucky, whispering something sweet in his ear and kissing him gently. “My good boy,” she murmurs as she pulls back, and Steve knows that’s meant for him, too, to remind him that Bucky is very, very good and Steve really ought to be working harder.

There’s a pleasant buzz humming through him; he’s not quite under, but he’s no longer thinking about the mission or the argument on the Quinjet. 

Peggy doesn’t come back to him quite yet. She leaves Bucky and crosses to the trunk at the foot of the bed, where they keep the various and sundry toys that have been accumulated for this sort of thing. She makes a soft ‘hmm’ sound before selecting something and closing the lid. He wills himself not to wonder, though, and instead waits patiently for her next command. He doesn’t have long to wait. 

“Face down,” she says, as though she’s bored. Steve can only guess as to what that means, and once again he takes a moment too long to speculate. Suddenly she’s there, taking him by the hair again and pulling him forward without warning. Instinctively, he puts his hands out to catch himself as she forces his face against the soft pile of their bedroom rug. “Get your hands behind your neck again,” she says sharply. “Now.” 

He doesn’t have to be told twice, clasping his hands behind his neck, his left cheek pressed into the carpet as he contemplates this new position. It’s awfully exposing, made worse by the fact that his lower half is even more elevated because she had him kneeling on a cushion. He knows he must look ridiculous, rear end in the air, his erection bobbing shamelessly against his stomach as he waits for her. His cheeks burn as Peggy circles him, examining her work.

“You’ll do,” she says eventually, before bringing something sharp and painful down on his backside, cutting in just where his thighs meet his ass and coming dangerously close to his balls. He can’t tell precisely, not without seeing it, but if he had to guess he’d imagine it’s the razor strop, or maybe a belt, doubled over and wielded with precision. 

Whatever it is, Peggy means to work him over until he’s hurting. She knows what he can take and exactly how to push him until he’s quivering, both from holding the position and from the pain of the marks she’ll leave on his skin. Marks that, to Steve’s constant regret, won’t last more than a night; by the morning all he’ll have is the memory of how sweetly they burned. It takes a lot out of Peggy to work him over, and she’s told him before that she feels guilty she can’t offer him more of the pain and release he seeks. He doesn’t know how to convey to her that she’s more than enough. That she’s perfect. It’s all he can think of as she gets to work, bringing the leather down against his skin again and again until he loses count and loses himself in the sensation.

“Now,” she says eventually, stepping back from him and struggling to keep her breathing even. Steve comes back to himself, a little bit, body aching with the impression she’s left on him. “I had hoped to teach you more, but I rather think you aren’t going to be able to retain more than four positions at once. Disappointing, but we must make do with what we are given.”

Steve barely has time to register the insult before she’s ordering him into another kneel-up. After that, she starts giving him positions faster than he can keep up. Kneel, kneel up, kneel spread and face down are spat at him in a random order, and she’s quick with the crop or the leather whenever his hands fall to the wrong position, or he doesn’t have his legs spread to her satisfaction. She puts him through his paces until he’s perfect, executing the positions with military precision to her satisfaction. 

“At ease,” she offers eventually, and Steve collapses at the phrase, his body going limp as he finally slips under completely. It’s been months since he got there properly, afraid to let himself get completely out of his head. But she’s there to catch him and keep him, holding him in her arms as she presses light kisses to his forehead. “There you go, my darling,” she murmurs. “It’s alright.” 

It’s not really, though, and Steve’s surprised to find himself crying, the silk of the blindfold getting damp while the anxiety and anger of the past couple weeks hit him full force. He clings to her as though she’s the only thing anchoring to the world, his breaths coming in fits and starts. 

“Close your eyes,” she murmurs eventually, once the tears have subsided and he’s coming back to himself. He does as he’s told before she pulls the blindfold off; she’s considerate like that, not wanting even the dim lights of the bedroom to hurt his eyes after being in the dark for so long.

“Thank you,” he says, opening his red-rimmed eyes after a minute and looking up at her. She looks tired, but pleased, which he can certainly appreciate. She smiles down at him, leaning in for a kiss. 

“Come to bed?” she asks quietly. “I need you.” 

Steve nods, glancing at the bed, not surprised to find Bucky gone. He must have slipped out somewhere in there, which isn’t unusual: he’s not quite there yet with participating in everything, especially when it comes to sex, so he comes and goes when Steve and Peggy play. It makes things easier, sometimes, when all Steve wants is to sink himself inside of Peggy and wrap himself up entirely with her; to worship her; to sate her needs in the same way she sates his. 

So, he does.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, y'all. This is my first Steve-POV fic and it was written in response to how annoyed I was at him after finishing Chapter 9 of my Stucky WIP, [Proprietary Information](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11964402/chapters/27054777). I'm a sucker for "do as Peggy says" having a distinctly kinky canonical bent. Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
